BDSMST -Chapter 74 The Marquis’ Old Wound

Chef Huang’s dejected departure did not cause much of a stir within the estate. To Wei Ziqian and the others, it was merely another amusing anecdote proving that Madam Jiang was “capable of anything.” They chatted about it enthusiastically at the dinner table for two days before it was quickly replaced by new farm work and training.

For Jiang Suisui, however, the incident reaffirmed one crucial truth—Woniu Village’s brand would always rest on one core principle: quality. No matter how clever the marketing or how prestigious the backing, everything had to be built upon an irreplaceable product.

After that day, the estate’s operations returned to normal. Membership orders from the capital flowed steadily through Steward Fu’s channels, and silver poured into the accounts like running water. The vegetables in the greenhouses and the strawberries in the heated rooms thrived. Everything appeared vigorous and prosperous.

After the blizzard, the weather cleared for several days. But before long, the sky turned gloomy again. A cold winter rain fell in a steady drizzle for days on end, heavy with damp chill.

In such weather, there was less work to do in the greenhouses. Most people stayed indoors—studying, practicing their writing, or weaving straw mats in preparation for expanding the greenhouses in the coming spring.

It was then that Jiang Suisui noticed something off about Gu Yan.

At first, she only felt that he had grown quieter than usual. Normally, he would still visit the training grounds to guide the youths in martial practice or inspect the beams in the greenhouses he had personally reinforced. But these past few days, he spent most of his time sitting by the study window with a military text in hand—staring at the same page for half a day without turning it.

His brows were unconsciously furrowed, his lips pressed into a firm line, as though he were enduring something.

That afternoon, the rain intensified. The air felt so damp and cold it seemed one could wring water from it. Jiang Suisui entered the study carrying a bowl of freshly stewed ginger duck soup. She saw Gu Yan standing by the window, one hand braced against the frame, his back straight as a pine, his gaze fixed on the gray, misty fields outside.

His posture remained upright and strong, yet Jiang Suisui keenly noticed that the hand gripping the window frame had turned slightly pale at the knuckles from exertion.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly, placing the bowl on the table.

Gu Yan shifted slightly and turned around. The restraint on his face had already been quickly masked, replaced by his usual calm. “Nothing. Just wondering how long this rain will last.”

His voice carried a faint rasp.

Jiang Suisui did not press him. She simply nudged the bowl toward him. “The weather is damp and cold. Have some soup to warm yourself.”

Gu Yan nodded and walked over to sit down. He picked up the bowl, but his movements were slightly stiff—especially when he raised his arm. His right shoulder seemed to dip almost imperceptibly.

That subtle motion did not escape Jiang Suisui’s eyes.

She watched him from the side as he lowered his head to drink the soup. His features were still sharp and resolute, yet the fatigue lingering between his brows could not be concealed.

Suddenly remembering something, she walked behind him, her gaze settling on his right shoulder and lower back.

“Your old injury is acting up again, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone certain.

Gu Yan paused mid-sip. He did not turn around. After a moment of silence, he replied in a near offhand manner, “Old military wounds. Nothing unusual. They react a little whenever it rains.”

Nothing unusual.

He said it lightly, but Jiang Suisui knew that for a battle-hardened general—one who would not utter a sound even if bones were broken—to show such a look, it was far more than “a little reaction.”

She recalled patients she had seen in her previous life—those suffering from severe rheumatism or complications from old injuries. Whenever the weather changed, the deep, bone-aching soreness and numbness could keep even the strongest people awake all night.

These past few days, he must have endured it in silence.

An indescribable emotion welled up in her chest. Heavy. Bitter. And something else—

Heartache.

She said nothing more. Quietly, she waited for him to finish the soup, then gathered the bowl and chopsticks and turned to leave.

Gu Yan watched her departing figure, assuming the matter would end there. He had long been accustomed to enduring his pain alone. He neither needed nor wanted to be looked at with sympathy or pity.

Yet that evening, when he dragged his somewhat heavy body back to the bedroom, he found the room looked different from usual.

In the center stood a large wooden tub filled with steaming hot water. Slices of ginger and herbs he could not name floated on the surface. A sharp yet refreshing medicinal aroma lingered in the warm air.

Jiang Suisui stood beside the tub, testing the water temperature with her hand. She had changed into a simple home dress, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing two slender, fair arms. Under the dim yellow lamplight, her profile appeared calm and focused.

“What is this?” Gu Yan paused at the doorway, puzzled.

Jiang Suisui glanced back at him, her tone matter-of-fact. “A medicinal bath for you. It dispels dampness and cold, promotes blood circulation, and clears the meridians. Your old injuries have lingered too long. The chill has seeped into your bones. If we don’t force it out, it will only worsen with time.”

As she spoke, she added more hot water to the tub, then straightened and said, “Undress and get in. The temperature is just right.”

Gu Yan looked at the unusually large bath barrel, then at her. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He had spent half his life on the battlefield, sustaining countless injuries. Military doctors had always treated him in the most direct, brutal ways. Never had he received such careful… attention.

“I…” He meant to say it wasn’t necessary.

But when he met her clear, unyielding eyes, the words of refusal simply would not come.

After a brief hesitation, he turned his back to her and began removing his robes.

As his clothing fell away, his scarred back was revealed. The scars crisscrossed brutally—some from blades, some from arrows, new wounds layered over old. The deepest one ran from his right shoulder down to his lower back, coiling along his spine like a centipede, shocking under the lamplight.

Jiang Suisui’s breathing caught for a moment.

She had known he was battle-hardened—but she had not imagined that his body carried so many marks of death.

Sensing her gaze behind him, Gu Yan’s body stiffened slightly. Without turning around, he stepped into the tub.

The warm medicinal water enveloped him instantly. Heat seeped through his skin, driving away the cold and soreness lodged deep within his bones. Muscles that had been tightly strung for days finally loosened.

A low, satisfied sigh escaped him as he sank deeper into the water, leaving only his head above the surface.

Jiang Suisui stepped behind him, dipped a cloth into the hot water, and gently laid it across his shoulder.

“From now on, whenever it rains, I’ll prepare a medicinal bath for you,” she said softly. Her voice drifted through the steam-filled room. “We don’t have many herbs at the estate, so this will do for now. When spring comes, I’ll have someone find some restorative ingredients. I’ll make medicinal meals for you and help you recover slowly. It will get better.”

Gu Yan closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the cloth on his shoulder and the quiet concern woven into her words.

He had never been treated with such gentleness.

In the army, he was the invincible commander—the pillar everyone relied on. He could not afford to show weakness. In the marquis’s residence, he was the backbone and pride of the family. People respected him, feared him—but no one truly asked whether he hurt, whether he was tired.

He had grown used to pain.

And to loneliness.

But now, this woman—his wife—spoke the warmest words in the plainest tone, using the simplest, most unpolished methods to try to soothe wounds long etched into his bones and blood.

A strange warmth rose from the hardest corner of his heart—warmer even than the medicinal bath. It spread slowly through his limbs. At the corners of his tightly shut eyes, there was the faintest trace of moisture.

He said nothing.

Beneath the water, he quietly clenched his fist.